I Feel So II: Through Raven's Eyes
by Brat-Child3
Summary: Alternate version of "I feel so," as told by Stan. "Fate has left Stan feeling like an empty shell, but Kyle doesn't seem willing to give up on him."
1. Froggies and TeddyBears

**Authors Note: **Hi, there! So as you can see, this is an alternate version of "I Feel So." **Raigo** (Who is incredible, BTW..check out his fics!) contacted me last week and asked if I would be willing to re-write "I Feel So" from Stan's POV. I decided to take on the challenge. Continuation will depend on feedback--I'm aware that a lot of people may not want to read it if they've already read the original. They already know what will happen! For those of you who haven't read the original version, **You do not need to read "I Feel So" to understand this version.**

I invite helpful criticism. Please keep that in mind. I don't know if this will have the same amount of success as the original, but I look forward to your reviews!

**Disclaimer: **South Park, not mine.

* * *

**Chapter 1- Froggies and Teddy-Bears**

Kyle Broflovski has always been my world. And if not my world, then he was my whole life. He meant everything to me, and nothing could ever make that go away.

It happened back in preschool, when his mother carried him into the room two weeks after everyone else had already started. He was hiding his face in her shoulder, arms coiled tightly around her neck. We all froze, losing interest in our toys as we stared curiously at the newcomers.

"Hi, there!" The teacher rushed forward to greet them. "I'm so happy to see you again, Mrs. Broflovski."

"Thank you, Ms. Claridge, what a nice thing to say." Sheila set Kyle's Cookie Monster bag on a window shelf next to my Pooh Bear backpack. "Kyle's been looking forward to playing with all the other children, but I'm afraid he's feeling a little shy this morning."

"That's perfectly understandable. Everyone gets a little nervous when they're in a new place, but we're going to make sure he has a wonderful first day. Aren't we, kids?"

We stared blankly at her, too dim at age four to comprehend much besides the fact that a stranger was in the room and we weren't supposed to talk to strangers.

"Why don't you say hello to all your new little friends, Bubbe?" Shelia asked. Kyle didn't move.

"Why'd she call him a boobie?" Cartman whispered. I shrugged and Kenny snickered, finding humor in sexuality even then.

"This is boring," Cartman decided, tugging at my sleeve. "Let's play firemen."

I pulled away from him, too intrigued with the new kid to care about playing stupid firemen. Cartman began to whine, but I tuned him out.

"I have an idea," Ms. Claridge was saying. Kyle flinched when she touched his back. "Why don't we all finger-paint? Do you like to finger-paint, Kyle?"

He shifted a little, then peeked out at her with one eye.

Shelia gasped in mock excitement. "Kyle adores finger-painting. He makes beautiful pictures to send to his family in Connecticut."

Ms. Claridge clapped her hands together. "That sounds perfect!" She rushed to the supply closet and began pulling out jars of paint. "Come on over children. Let's show our new friend how we paint."

The rest of the class swarmed around the miniature easels, too excited about making pictures to care about Kyle anymore. But I was still watching him as Ms. Claridge began draping oversized paint-shirts over our heads. He was sitting up fully now, watching everyone dance and jump around while individual paints were being distributed.

"This one's for you, Kyle," said Ms. Claridge, lining three paint jars along the easel next to mine.

Kyle released Shelia's neck and slid to the ground, tugging nervously at his hair. I dipped my fingers into the green paint and streaked it across the middle of the paper while he was being kissed goodbye.

"Be a good boy, Kyle. Mommy will be back to get you soon."

Ms. Claridge slid a shirt over his head and steered him toward his easel, then walked Shelia to the door.

I just stared at him. He didn't look like anyone I had ever seen in my life. Everyone had pale skin in South Park; the hidden sun wouldn't have it any other way. But Kyle's skin was different somehow. He looked like the porcelain dolls Shelley had in her room, the ones I wasn't allowed to touch because they'd break and then she'd kill me. I had seen red hair before, too—one of our other classmates had it—but Kyle's was more vibrant, curls sticking out everywhere. He had the kind of face that you couldn't look away from, intelligent and friendly, wildly imaginative behind the gleaming emerald of his eyes.

But at the time, I remember thinking the best thing about him was the fact that he wore a green frog on his shirt, drawn in the same style as the brown teddy bear on mine. I could see it through the thin white material of his cover-up clothes.

Kyle, sensing my gaze, turned to look at me. We blinked curiously at each other, saying nothing for a few moments. I was awed at how much brighter his eyes were when he looked at me dead-on. Maybe I had seen red hair before, but at that point, I had never seen anyone with eyes the same color as lime Jell-O.

Uncomfortable with my gawking, Kyle finally ducked his head, twisting his fingers together shyly.

"I like your froggy," I told him, saying the only thing that came to mind. He glanced back up at me.

"Huh?"

"Your froggy," I repeated, tapping his chest with a green finger. "it looks like my bear." I stretched the collar of my paint shirt open, showing off my ensemble. He peeked inside, cautious but interested. When he looked back into my eyes, he was smiling.

Excitement bubbled through me, like it did when my mom told me I could have _two _cookies for dessert. I was proud of myself for making Kyle happy, and in one inexplicable moment, he had me completely smitten. It became my mission in life to make him happy, to make him laugh. Not because I wanted to feel good about myself, but because I liked making _him _feel good; because a world devoid of his smile was suddenly dull and uninteresting.

...Which was why I was hauling ass twelve years later, darting between unsuspecting pedestrians in my rush through the main streets of South Park. Kyle was waiting for me, and I was over an hour late. _Again. _God damn, I was really fucking up with him lately.

I slowed when I spotted the bright green of his ushanka next to Baskin Robins. He was perched on the curb with his chin in his palm, looking torn between anger and dejection. With his free hand he held an ice cream cone, and despite the chilled weather, the contents were half-melted and dripping lines similar to chocolate veins down his fist.

This couldn't be good at all.

"Kyle, Hey!" I shouted as I came closer. If there was one way to get Kyle out of a foul mood, it was by distracting him. "I'm sorry I'm late, Dude. Wendy wouldn't stop talking. She really liked the bracelet I got her."

But Kyle's mood was even worse than I had originally thought. He ignored me completely, instead turning in the opposite direction with a loud "Hmmph!"

If I had three guesses what the problem was, my first choice would have to be Cartman. Seeing as how Cartman was out of town visiting family for the weekend, it seemed unlikely—though still not impossible—that this was Cartman's doing. My second choice would be his mother. But because it irritated him when anyone made assumptions about his mood, I decided to play it dumb.

"Is something wrong?" I asked, dropping to the cement beside him. The sleeve of my sweater brushed his arm, and he shivered gently. I'd never understand why he always remembered his hat but barely ever remembered his coat.

"Gee, Stan," he said, sneering. "What would make you think a thing like _that?"_

I almost rolled my eyes. "Your ice cream is melting all over your hand," I said, reduced to pointing out the obvious.

For some curious reason, he looked honestly surprised by this revelation, as if he hadn't even been aware he was holding anything in the first place. He looked down, watching a single drop splatter onto the sidewalk. "My _ice cream?"_

"Yeah, Dude!" I dipped my finger into the cone and tested the flavor. It had sugar. _Real _sugar, which meant that this wasn't his ice cream at all; it was mine_._

Fuck. _Fuck_.

"That's Swiss Chocolate Swirl. How could you?" I asked, still trying desperately to lighten the mood, though it was evident by the licks of fire in his eyes that it was useless at this point. His fingers crunched into the cone.

"_Swiss chocolate swirl!" _Melted chocolate exploded in a brilliant cloud around us as he spun on me, eyes wild. "Is that the _only _reason you think something's wrong?"

I blinked twice, almost flinching away from the accusation in his tone. Which brought me around to my third and final guess about what was up his ass—_me_.

"What about the fact that I've been sitting here for the past hour and twenty three minutes waiting for you, Stan?" He continued, flailing his arms in my face. "Ever think of that?"

It was so unfair. A month ago, I had been content to give him every spare moment that I had, and he had pushed and pushed until I got back together with Wendy. It was like he _wanted _me to spend all my time with her. Now I was doing exactly what I thought was supposed to do to make him happy, and he was still _unhappy_.

"Kyle, come on." I sighed loudly, exhausted. I hated fighting with him. "I told you that-"

"Yeah, I know! Wendy, Wendy, Wendy."

"Kyle-"

"Don't you "Kyle" me, you douche!" He was trembling, grinding his teeth as he spoke. We were getting curious looks from passerby's, but he didn't seem to notice that either; he was far too consumed being unreasonably pissed off.

I finally glared. "You're the one being a douche, you douche! Just because I ran a little late-"

"You didn't _just _run a _little _late, Stan!" He pushed himself off the ground. "You've been over an hour late _every single time _we've made plans ever since you got back together with _Wendy _the Skank!"

"Don't call her a skank, asshole!" I yelled, scrambling from the sidewalk. "You're the one who got us back together in the first place, _Kyle!" _

"Because I wanted to see my best friend happy, _not _because I never wanted to see him _at all!" _Tears glassed his eyes, but he quickly blinked them away, trying to hide his pain.

My mood immediately leveled. I had no idea things had gotten this bad, that it bothered him this much. God, I had to be the worst super best friend in existence. I felt horrible.

"Dude," I struggled for words a moment, hating myself for letting him down. The only thing I could come up with was, "I'm sorry, Ky." I touched his shoulder, hoping he could feel the sincerity behind the cliché lines. "You're right. I shouldn't have kept you waiting."

He ripped his hand away, cradling it to his chest like my touch had scorched him. "I'm sorry, too."

"What do you mean?"

He glowered through newly forming tears, trembling violently against the wind. "I'm sorry I have to find a new best friend."

My heart throbbed frantically, ominously. "Kyle-"

"No!" He snapped. "I'm not going to sit around waiting for you anymore while you just forget about me, Stan."

Horrified, I moved closer, trying to lock his gaze. I'd never heard him said anything like that before, never seen him so upset with me before. He wouldn't even meet my eyes, instead focusing on my shoes.

"I could _never _forget about you, Kyle. You're my best friend, Dude." I touched his shoulder, hoping the gesture would be enough to pacify him. "My _super _best friend."

My heart thudded painfully as I watched him. Finally, he swallowed hard, then carefully peeked up at me. I smiled before I could stop myself. Gradually, he smiled back, gentle and forgiving.

I pulled him into a half-hug, breathing a shuddering sigh of relief, then released him before he could remember he had just been mad.

"Lets get you a new ice-cream," I said, even though I knew it had actually been for _me. _There was no reason to draw even more attention to what an incredible ass-wipe I was.

...Especially when I still had to tell him I was seeing Wendy again tonight.

* * *

The problem with Kyle's video game playing skills was that he tried too damn hard.

We were back at my house for the evening, wearing out my Games Sphere with virtual ass-kicking. Kyle was on his knees, somehow believing that his player would obtain better momentum if he jerked and bent in the directions he wanted it to go. I didn't have the heart to tell him it didn't work that way. Besides, he was fun to watch.

"_Damnit!" _He finally shrieked, successfully defeated for the fourth round.

"Told you I was gonna kick your pathetic ass," I said, beaming.

Kyle just shrugged and plopped down next to me, fighting a grin. I could see him biting down on his tongue. "I'd rather you kick my ass virtually than for real."

"I'd never kick your ass, Kyle."

"I know." He caved, smiling now. "You wouldn't be able to."

"What's that supposed to mean?" I asked.

"It means: You may be able to kick my ass at some crappy video game, but we all know who'd win in a real fight." He waggled his eyebrows at me. I tossed my controller to the side and crawled toward him, narrowing my eyes. That sounded like a challenge to me.

"We'll see about that," I said, hoping I sounded threatening, and leapt at him.

Kyle half-gasped, half-screamed as I fell on top of him. He quickly kneed my balls and rolled me over, pinning me to the cushions. For a moment, I was overcome with shock at his new-found strength, then began swatting at him, trying desperately to free myself. Kyle lapsed into a round of hysterics, weakening under his mirth. I used the opportunity to flip him onto the floor, using a backward somersault I didn't even know I could do, then tried to scramble away. But Kyle jumped me again, this time wrapping his thighs around my head, squeezing.

"Kyle!"

"Say uncle," he said, calmly.

I struggled for air, for freedom, not ready to back down yet. I could take him, I knew I could. I _always _did.

"...No."

The pressure around my cranium doubled. "Say uncle!"

The harder I fought, the tighter his hold became. I was about to give up when the subtle whisper of jeans against my lips sparked an idea. I fell limp and tilted my head down, then sunk my teeth into his inner thigh.

Kyle yelped and violently thrashed away. "You bastard! You… you bit me!"

"H'yeah."

"_Bit _me!" he repeated, completely traumatized.

"Uh huh." I flashed my middle finger at him, still grinning.

Kyle flew on top of me again, just like I'd planned. I received him eagerly and twisted his arm behind his back. "Say uncle."

"_Bastard," _he choked.

I bent his elbow further. He moaned and leaned forward, struggling to break loose.

"Uncle?" I asked, bouncing my eyebrows.

Kyle grunted, fumbling a few more seconds before collapsing against me, his cheek to my chest. "Uncle."

I dropped my hands and allowed him a breather, trying to ignore the fact that he was straddling my lap, his crotch pressed against mine. It was an exceedingly intimate position for two best friends to be in, and I wondered if it felt half as awkward to him as it did to me.

He turned his face into my chest, breathing in my skin before sitting up and cradling the arm I had just got done torturing. His eyes were unusually vibrant, penetrating deeply into mine.

My thoughts were starting to go dark, to places they shouldn't be going, the way they always did when Kyle got too close. Romantically, I loved Wendy, I knew that much. But I couldn't deny that I was sexually attracted to Kyle. It wasn't something I thought about often; it was merely something I was aware of in moments like these. The overwhelming urge to grind myself against him left no room for doubt in that respect.

The doorbell rang just as my breath started to hitch. I threw Kyle to the floor, thankful for the distraction, and darted away to answer it.

Of course, I already knew it was Wendy before I opened the door, but I still cringed when I saw her. I hadn't found a good opening to tell Kyle she'd be coming over.

"Hi, Stan," She said, throwing her arms around my neck.

"Hey, Babe." I nudged toward the living room, where she could plainly see Kyle, still on the floor where I'd left him. She nodded, understanding it'd be rude to ask him to leave and better if we just went to her house.

Obediently, she slid her arm into mine and tugged me back toward Kyle. He was laughing to himself, amused for some inexplicable reason.

"What's so funny?" I asked, smiling at his behavior.

His face fell immediately. I glanced briefly at Wendy as he stood, shaking his head dismissively. Part of me wished I could call my date with Wendy off. I was really starting to feel like I was having Kyle withdraws, but I had already promised Wendy we could be together tonight. It was a miracle her parents were going to be out so late, and we needed to take advantage of that while we had the chance. Kyle would understand. I drew in a deep breath.

"Kyle, I need a favor."

He looked between us, eyes narrowing distrustfully, then looked away. "… What?" he asked.

"Cover for me?"

"Huh?" He looked back up, eyes heartbreakingly unstable in their worry.

"You know," I wet my lips, nervous. "When my parents come home."

Kyle stumbled and grabbed hold of the couch. "You're leaving?"

"…Well, yeah." I rubbed the back of my neck, trying to act casual. Keep it light and Kyle would ride it out that way. "I mean, it's not like we were doing anything special. We were just screwing around and then gonna go to sleep."

"I doubt you're gonna do anything with Wendy besides screw around and then go to sleep," he snapped, startling me with his callousness.

"Dude!"

"I'm just gonna wait outside," Wendy broke in, her words too rational for the situation. She eyed Kyle for a moment, then moved back toward the door. I waited until I heard it close.

"What the hell was that?"

Kyle shrugged, looking slightly pleased with himself. "You talk about sex all the time."

I glared, _hard_. I could understand if he was upset with me, but he had no right to take it out on Wendy. "_Kenny _talks about sex all the time. And yeah, maybe sometimes I join in, but you don't say shit like that in front of a chick."

"She's not a chick, she's Wendy," he argued, crossing his arms.

"You're acting like a total dick. What is up?" My blood spiked another degree when he didn't answer. "Kyle?"

"An hour and twenty-three minutes," he reminded me, far too calm. I could sense another volcanic eruption lurking beneath the surface. "I waited an hour and twenty-three minutes for you, and now you're just going to blow me off for her again?"

"Oh no. Here we go again." I tried to say it playfully, but it came out on a sigh and sounded all wrong. Still, I tried again. "You're starting to sound like a nagging girlfriend, dude. We spent all evening together."

Kyle said nothing. It was like his battery had been turned off. It was obvious he was about ready to crash, so why shouldn't I be with Wendy while he slept?

"Please, Kyle? Every time I'm with her, one of our parents are hovering around. It's like they don't have anything better to do but annoy us or something. This is the only chance I have to just be alone with her and not worry about anyone else getting in the way."

Kyle backed down, finally understanding how important this was for mine and Wendy's relationship. He gave a tentative nod.

"Thanks, dude." I patted his shoulder, letting him know there weren't any hard feelings, and traced the tart scent of Wendy's perfume out the door.

I wasn't going to let the air of dejection lingering around Kyle ruin my time with Wendy. By the time I got back, he wasn't going to care about this anyway.

* * *

TO BE CONTINUED...

-BratChild3


	2. Once Upon a Time

**Authors Note: **An update! I'm as surprised as some of you probably are. Writer's block is a bitch. luckily, I seem to finally be over it. I wrote most of this in one night and I hope this inspiration continues.

Thanks to everyone who has reviewed this story so far. I'm amazed so many people actually want to hear this story again. I'm trying to do Stan justice here...so lets hope it works.

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**Chapter 2-Once Upon a Time:**

I had never felt more ashamed in all my life.

I had promised myself I wouldn't, but I did anyway. The look on Kyle's face when I had asked him to cover for me was burned into my mind, flashing in vibrant streaks every time I tried to smiled. There was something uncomfortably piercing about ditching your best friend, like the jagged edge of a fire-heated knife, and the rusty blade of it sliced a patchwork of guilt through my stomach the entire night. It didn't matter if he had agreed to it, and it didn't matter if he would forget all about it by the time I got back home; what mattered the most was that I had let him down, and nothing could erase that, even if his forgiveness healed it. I'd been leaving far too many scars in him lately, and every one was reflected in his eyes like blood-stained ribbons, dancing and flickering with buried disappointment.

The thing I feared the most in life was Kyle in any sort of pain. So why couldn't I seem to stop hurting him?

It wasn't like Wendy had made it any easier on me either. She found a way to dredge up the topic of Kyle in random intervals throughout the night, unaware of the briny sting her words inflicted in the wounds. I honestly thought about him enough without her constant remarks of "Kyle this" and "Kyle that," and her pestering about including him more often.

I was seriously starting to think Wendy was only dating me to dig her claws into my heart and extract every ounce of information about Kyle it possessed, which was a whole goddamn lot of information. Most of which I wasn't willing to share with anyone. I'd spent the past twelve years analyzing Kyle Broflovski and his calculated, precise ways of doing things—his convoluted habits that would drive most any other person insane, but that I, incidentally, found ridiculously charming; his bad habits and good habits; his amusingly short temper and heart-piercing sense of humanity.

Those were mine to know. Everyone else had a general gist of Kyle's personality, but aside from his family, I doubted anyone knew him as wholly or intimately as I did.

I was borderline possessive, but I didn't care. In some sick, emotionally unstable part of my mind, Kyle belonged to _me. _Rest assured, this wasn't a dominant part of my thinking, and I was fully aware that Kyle was going to get himself a girlfriend one day, and I'd be (reluctantly, I hoped) moved to second rank. I was okay with this. I didn't like it, but I was okay with it. Kyle's happiness always came before anything else in my life...and the truth was right now, Kyle was not happy.

And it was my fault.

I looked down at Wendy, the dark crown of her head resting lightly against my shoulder. It was well after midnight, and we'd fallen asleep watching some late-night comedy. Part of me was reluctant to go; I _loved _Wendy. I loved spending time together without her nosey, hawk of a father burning holes of fury through my soul with his eel-like eyes. It was incredible to me how someone as kindhearted and gentle as Wendy could be spawned by someone so unreasonably callous.

Mr. Testaburger scared the shit out of me, if I wanted to be perfectly honest about the whole thing, but Wendy simply thought he was a goddamn nuisance and openly expressed her opinion to his face on a number of occasions. Despite how uncomfortable it made me, I'd never once had to consider whether or not Wendy was truly worth all the incredible bullshit I had to put up with. The answer was clear: Of _course _she was.

She wasn't, however, worth hurting Kyle's feelings over. I had to go back home. I had to make things right with him.

I gently kissed the part in Wendy's hair, then began to slide out from underneath her. She was a light sleeper, and I knew she'd wake up no matter how carefully I extracted myself from her embrace, but I still tried to ease my way out without disturbing her. I made it halfway before she hummed and sat upright.

"Stan?" She asked, trying to look at me through bleary eyes. I smiled and stoked the glossy waterfall of hair shielding half her face.

"It's time for me to go back home. It's late."

She collapsed back into me, wrapping her arms around my waist and burying her face in my chest. "You don't have to go. Stay with me until morning."

Her breathing was still deep and even beneath the soft purple of her shirt, pulled only partway from the realm of sleep. Arguing with her was something I had learned was futile very early on in our relationship; it got me absolutely no where. And so, instead of arguing my case, I took the easier alternative and wedged my arms under her legs and back as I stood, lifting her in the traditional bridal fashion from the couch. She sighed and leaned her cheek against my shoulder, allowing me to take her up the stairs and put her into bed. She was asleep before I had even pulled the pink-flannel blanket over her. I kissed her unresponsive lips, then paused as I stepped back to look at her.

I didn't know what I had done to deserve such an amazing girlfriend, but why question the good in your life? As long as I wasn't on the fool's end of some kind of sick joke fate was playing, I accepted every gift in my life with mechanical appreciation. It just simply didn't seem fair sometimes that I had everything a guy could ever want in a girlfriend while Kyle continued to celebrate each consecutive Valentines day studying because everyone else had someone special to share it with. Not that Valentines day could possibly be any further away, but I figured if the next would be any different, I had better start doing something to help him _now_.

Below me, Wendy sighed and shifted into a more comfortable position. The small noise caught my attention, and I realized that Kyle had once again taken precedence over any of my other thoughts, including my easily-seducible girlfriend, who was lying vulnerable and half-dressed on her bed. Kyle probably wasn't a very normal thing to be thinking about right now, especially when it was cold and Wendy obviously wasn't wearing anything beneath the thin cotton covering her chest.

I shook Kyle clear from my mind and, upon a few moments of drinking in the sight of Wendy's perfectly shaped body, slipped underneath the covers. She clung to me instantly, awakened and suddenly more alert than she'd been all night.

"I knew you'd stay," She said, locking her arms around my neck.

I was already kissing my way down her throat, easing my knee between hers and gently nudging her thighs apart. "I was thinking about how selfless you've been tonight."

Her eyes were half-lidded, the orbs darkening with a naughty tint. My hands worked their way slowly up the front of her shirt.

"And I realized I still need to return the favor," I finished.

She was already moaning with anticipation by the time my tongue danced beneath the elastic of her lacy panties.

* * *

It was almost 4:30 in the morning by the time I finally crept into my bedroom. I had half expected Kyle to be waiting up for me with some kind of lecture about staying out all night long, or at least a curt tongue-lashing for having to convince my stupid parents that I hadn't gone anywhere. Instead, he was burrowed deep beneath the covers, drenched in the silvery beams of the moon.

My shadow fell across him as I moved closer, leaning into his face to make sure he truly _was _asleep. I was a little disappointed about it; I had wanted to apologize immediately for bailing out on him the way I did. The guilt clouding me wasn't going to fade away until I heard him say that everything was cool.

"Kyle?" I whispered, a little part of me actually hoping it would wake him up; another part of me resisting the urge to brush my lips against his temple.

I hurriedly put some space between us, moving back toward the darkened corner where my dresser stood. It was thoughts like that—like _kissing _and _touching— _that bothered me more than the _other _thoughts I had, like wanting to grind him into the mattress. I had once done a _Google _search and found a goldmine of information about the issue. It seemed it was pretty normal to want to hump everyone in sight at my age, and that included both genders.

The part I didn't find any assurance on and have since avoided thinking about as much as possible was the fact that I not only wanted to pound Kyle into the mattress, I wanted to pound Kyle into the mattress and then I wanted to hold him afterward.

That probably wasn't as normal and meaningless as I hoped it was.

And I wasn't thinking about it.

Instead, I busied myself with the frustrating task of striping myself down for bed. I was normally a pretty graceful person (it was Kyle who could and _would _trip over his own feet), but it seemed that the effect of the early morning hours was beginning to take its toll on my sleepless body, and every article of clothing I removed collided and crashed into something else in my room. By the time I had finished pulling off my sweater, and cussing at it for getting stuck at an awkward angle on my arm and head, I was pretty sure Kyle, if not the entire house, was awake. But he didn't say anything at all as I fell beside him into the bed, the comforting pleasure of relaxation flowing steadily through my bones.

I felt Kyle shift beneath the covers, then sigh deeply. I ignored the raw sword of lust that cut through the lower portion of my stomach. It wasn't altogether too hard to do considering I'd been battling it every time he slept over since we were twelve-years-old, not to mention the overwhelming tide of fatigue washing over me. It took mere seconds for the room to start fading into the soft colors of slumber.

Just as I was reaching the soothing realm between consciousness and sleep, Kyle thwacked me hard across the face as he turned again. Prickles of shock darted through me.

"Ow, dude!" I shot upright, fumbling to turn on the lamp. "What the hell was that?" The moment the led clicked and the artificial stream of gold illuminated the room, I wished it hadn't. Kyle sat up, a murderous hue battling just beneath the glass of his eyes.

"What have you been doing all night long?" He demanded.

I had to literally fight off the ice climbing with ivy limbs along my spine. It was such a rare thing for Kyle to turn his fury on me. Normally I found his temper slightly enduring and kind of a turn-on, but it was a whole different story when I was his prime target. There just wasn't any other way of putting it: Kyle was _scary_.

Still, there was absolutely no reason for him to be slapping me that way; if he wanted to beat me to a pulp because he was pissed, I'd prefer it if he used fists. A smack was a bit of an insult.

"What do you think?" I asked.

"Wendy!" He yelled. "You've been doing Wendy all night long! Stan, how could you?"

"Kyle, I wasn't "doing" Wendy, alright?" This conversation was honestly getting pretty old. Although I shared the same ideals as him, my morals weren't quite as ridged, and he just didn't get that. "Even if I was, what do you care?" I continued. "Guys are suppose to congratulate crap like that, high five them, and take them out for a beer… or something."

"That's not the point!" He snapped, then froze abruptly, making a face similar to one I'd imagine he'd make if he'd just shit himself. "…A beer, what?"

There was way too much of this Kyle-Wendy bullcrap going on. Every time I was with one of them, they were too busy talking, asking, or bitching about the other one to ever shut the hell up and just have a good time or at _least _a normal conversation with me. I was tired of the relentless way they always had each other on their mind. Kyle, with his polite mannerisms and pristine morals had always made far too well of an impression on Wendy, and maybe I was just being completely stupid to think it was all coincidence. What other reason would Kyle have for being so pissed-off every time I was alone with her? And what other reason would he have to try so damn hard to keep me from having sex with my own girlfriend? It was pretty clear Kyle wanted her for himself.

"What is the point," I finally asked, grinding my teeth. "that you're a jealous Dickhole?"

Kyle's jaw actually dropped. He waved his hands in front of his face. "Whoa, whoa, wait. Jealous? What would I have to be jealous of?"

I couldn't stop my eyes from rolling. "Oh, please, Kyle. You've been trying to impress Wendy ever since she broke up with me in the fourth grade!"

"Impress _Wendy?" _He asked, the pitch of his voice rising in tight disbelief. "Stan, you have it all wrong."

"Do I? Somehow I don't think so."

"God, just forget it!" He yelled, suddenly losing his cool again, ever the firecracker. "You're too much of a selfish bastard to care that you're a selfish bastard!"

"What? That doesn't make any sense!"

He actually threw himself back against the pillow and turned sharply away from me. "Just shut up and go to sleep. This is the last time I stay over with you."

It didn't matter how pissed off at him I was; Kyle was _hot _when he was mad. I had always thought so. Incidentally, I didn't want to beat the shit out of him, I wanted to fuck the hell out of him. This was a problem because I had just spent the better part of the night with my face buried between Wendy's legs. Not only that, but it was starting to get awkward going to sleep every weekend with a raging boner for Kyle.

I clicked the light back off and settled into the softness of blankets, taking a deep breath. "We're getting too old for this, anyway."

Kyle turned toward me, his voice softening to an almost heartbreaking tone. "Huh?"

"It's just," I paused to gather the correct words and assemble them into a sentence coherent enough to express what I meant. Finally, I settled on: "Kenny and Cartman stopped sleeping over years ago."

Kyle took a moment to absorb this. "So?"

"So… maybe it's just kinda gay that _we _still are," I explained, and Kyle just stared. "I mean, people might start to wonder about us, you know?"

Even through the blankets I could feel the rise in his body temperature as the anger boiled over. "No, I _don't _know, Stan. Unless you're worried I'm gonna reach over and molest you like you did to me."

"_What?" _I yelp. "Dude, we were twelve! I was only showing you what to do because obviously you were bad at it!"

"I was doing just fine on my own!"

"Yeah, watching me," I said, calmly. There was no way I was going to let him put the blame solely on me. "If I remember correctly, you started your pathetic little wank job while you were watching me, and then couldn't even control yourself when I tried to show you a better way to do it, so I got screwed into getting you off instead of you doing it yourself."

"That is the most bullshit logic I have ever heard!"

"There's no other logic to it."

"What are you saying?" He demands.

It was one of those moments when you know you're about to say something stupid. You know, and yet the words tumble out faster than your mind can tell you to shut your damn mouth.

"I'm saying, maybe Cartman's right. Maybe you are a fag."

"You were the one touching me! Maybe _you're _the fag!" He shoots back.

"Yeah, well I didn't hear any objections! It sounded more like 'Ooooh, _God, _Stan yeeeesss!' to me!"

Kyle threw the blankets covering him off and over my head. I ripped them away furiously to find him shoving his legs into his pants.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm running for congress, what does it look like I'm doing?" He snapped, zipping the fly and then reaching for his hat.

I scrambled out of bed, throwing myself in front of the door. "You can't just leave!

"I can do whatever the hell I want!"

"But it's cold and dark."

"Not as cold and dark as you." He said, pulling down his hat. "Screw you, Stan. I'm going home."

I didn't move fast enough, and he managed to maneuver around me and through the door before I could do anything else to stop him. But what would have stopped him anyway? The truth?

"_Oh, sorry for calling you a fag and saying I didn't want you staying over with me, Kyle. It's just that even though I'm in love with Wendy, all I want to do is tear your clothes off when you're lying next to me." _

I somehow don't think the truth would go over so well in this situation. We had already "experimented" together, and although I considered it one of the most erotic and pleasurable moments of my life, I now knew that Kyle thought of the entire thing as a violation, as molestation.

We were only twelve. That was my whole excuse right there, because I had absolutely nothing else to defend myself with. The reason wasn't solely because of the immaturity of mind, however; it was because Kyle was hot. That's really what it all came down to in the end. Kyle was hot and my hormones had matured. That was why I had raided my dads porn stash that day; because I wanted to see Kyle get turned on. I wanted to watch the front of his pants grow tight behind his zip and I wanted to get off thinking about it.

It was a sick, deceitful trick, but hell if it didn't work out even better than I had imagined.

Through the darkness, I blinked at my door. I could run after him, maybe I _should _run after him, but even if he were willing to listen to me, I didn't know where to start. There was so much to say and at the same time I knew I could never say it. Sex was a powerful thing, and the desire for it was something that destroyed relationships on a daily basis around the globe. It wasn't _important _for me to tell Kyle I wanted to bone him; it wasn't the same thing as if I were in love with him. It was simply hormones, maybe derived from the depths of my lust for Wendy. No matter how much we had played around, we still hadn't gone all the way. And although I wanted to, the more intelligent part of me didn't. There was a time for everything.

Right now it was time for some much needed sleep. I could deal with Kyle later.

* * *

_Kyle was watching me instead of the porno. That much, at least, hadn't been expected. There were naked women on the TV, and he was more interested in watching the way my hands glided up and down then he was in their bodies._

_It put a bit of a damper on my confidence at first. Kyle and I had never done anything like this before, and it was possible that he would think masturbating in the same room as each other would be really more gay than it was a turn-on, even if we were watching x-rated movies together._

_So it was surprising and explosively arousing when he began to palm the bulge of his pants as he watched me. It only took a few minutes for that to send me hurling over the edge of release._

_For a few breathless, boneless moments, I floated in the silky membrane of post-orgasmic bliss. When my eyes opened, Kyle was still watching me; cheeks slightly flushed, hands stilling with shy uncertainty between his legs._

"_Lay back," I told him softly, sitting up. I had to hide the smile I felt as I watched him comply with nervous excitement. "It's cool, dude, we're both guys here. Try some of this."_

_I held up the bottle of lube I had used for my own stimulation, and Kyle obediently outstretched his hand. He wouldn't look at me as he began to apply the bead of gel I had squeezed into his palm. The soft bubbling of laughter sneaked past my lips. _

"_Don't have much of a technique going, do you?" I asked, trying to be delicate about the matter._

_Kyle finally looked up at me, smiling with lazy affection, tinged with a hint of embarrassment. "I haven't ever- done this before."_

"_What? Are you shitting me?" _

_Kyle shook his head, and I looked down again at the way he was cupped in his hand, covering his excitement rather than relieving it. _

_I could feel the twinge of arousal starting to plague me again, growing steadily at the sight of him laying so compliantly against my bed sheets. My hands suddenly had a mind of their own._

"_Try it like this," I said and, after gently pushing his hands aside, wrapped my own around him. Kyle moaned at the sensation, and a laugh involuntarily escaped me. "Dude, I haven't even done anything yet." _

But, God, do I want to...

_I began to stroke him in time to the sound of my own heartbeat, using a wristy, up-and-down motion that I had recently discovered was a personal favorite technique of mine. The sensations were almost unbearable in their intensity, and it seemed to have the same effect on Kyle. He writhed beneath my touch, clutching fistfuls of the surroundings sheets as he arched instinctively into my hands. _

"_Yes," he whispered; eyes closed, breath hitched. "God, yes, Stan, Stan. _Stan!"

_The heat of arousal was burning full force through me again. All it took was a slight increase in pressure and a few more patient, loving strokes and Kyle was coming long and hard into my hands._

* * *

I woke up sweating, the sheets covering me hot and drenched with come. The room was still mostly dark, but the first remnants of light were beginning to creep along the edges of my curtains.

Kyle had left less than two hours ago, and though I swore not to think about him and get some rest, I was already dreaming about him. Or, more accurately, about Kyle's first masturbation session.

I had been the one to unlock that perverted door for him. Until then, he'd been as innocently wholesome as Butters Stotch. Who knows how long that would have lasted if I had been better able to control myself. And that was the reason why I had to be so brutal with Kyle tonight—so that I didn't make the same mistake twice, because I didn't trust myself.

Once upon a time I had molested Kyle.

And for Christ sake, I had enjoyed every minute of it.

* * *

_-Bratchild3_


End file.
